


Bochum - The flower in the coal field

by Snowingiron



Series: German Cities [4]
Category: Paris Burning (thecitysmith)
Genre: F/M, Paris Burning, Social Anxiety Disorder, Unrequited Love, turning to somehow requited love?????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowingiron/pseuds/Snowingiron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you fight, if you're your own worst enemy? They once called her a nymph, a dryad. Now she wallows in grease and sleeps in a bed of coal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bochum didn’t like kings or Emperors. She didn’t like bishops or popes. She liked dancing and music, theatre and books. But her people were different back then and they built factories and collieries. She lived in one of the mines for three years until she almost forgot what she was.  
> It was Dortmund who came to help her, who reminded her of what they all were. They were the cities of the Ruhr. They would stick together.  
> Bochum’s people cried and she felt their agony as her own. Cities never changed, not unless their people did, but she likes to think they did because of her. She was very much broken and her body would always show that. But now there’s a musical, a theatre, a university and her body is healing since there are always road works on her very skin. She’s not beautiful, she never was, but this is what the people love about her.

 

Bochum had always believed that she wasn't meant to be that way. She felt like a girl, way too young to have children, so how was she supposed to raise them? She remembered older times, when people called her a Nymph, a Dryad. Back then when she ran through the woods, danced with trees and listened to the music of leaves in the wind.

 

It was exciting to be a City and in the beginning it was quiet and only about farming and dancing with her people, her children, on Walpurgis Night.

 

She noticed how they made her feel and the way she influenced them. She couldn't help but wondering, if they even loved her. Because she loved _them_ and felt like a failing mother.

 

*

 

"Won't they come to you? Talk to you?"

 

She had visited Essen in her abbey, which was known for harbouring women in need. Essen knew how to comfort more than anyone else. Which was why her hand on Bochum's was more than just a touch.

 

"No... sometimes they don't even see me." Bochum closed her eyes. "I feel lost in my own skin."

 

Essen held her in her arms, let Bochum bury her face in her chest. "You are a City. You will grow in every possible way... Give yourself some time and them as well."

 

*

 

She missed the woods, but when she tasted steel for the first time she fell in love. It sang with clashing voices and the fire danced on her skin.

 

It had it's price though. She became ugly, at least that's what she thought. She was hiding from her people, panicking whenever she walked among them.

 

And when she scratched her skin too much, iron lay underneath.

 

*

 

During the occupation of the Ruhr, French was spoken a lot in her streets. She took French soldiers into her bed, because she felt unloved by her own people. It didn't help.

 

It's a strange concept, but yes, sometimes children can neglect their mother. They ran from her.

 

*

 

This is what's even more sad: that one time she felt their love, was during the second world war. She saw Hitler standing on the balcony of the townhall, praising her, telling them how much she meant. At the same time her children, which she was supposed to protect, died in different parts of the country.

 

"It makes them happy."

 

She was laughing while she vomited into one of her alleys.

 

 

*

 

In 1950, she left the country for the first time. She travelled to Sheffield, to become his twin city and shook his hand in front of the Lord Mayor.

Sheffield smelled of steel.

You see, it's hard to have a magic moment when you're the only one feeling it. She stared at him and smiled, but he didn't smile back.

 

"He never smiles," the Lord Mayor said and gave her a soft squeeze on the shoulder.

 

It didn't matter. She heard about Leeds later and envied him, but she left her heart with Sheffield and never looked back. She was angry at herself, at her pounding heart, which without doubt, threw some pans and dishes out of the kitchen cupboards of her people right now.

 

She intended to write some letters to Sheffield when she was back. But she never did. Instead she closed her eyes and, over the years, she reached out to her own people, whenever they visited Sheffield for a student exchange.

 

Being in love felt to her as lonely as being a City.

 

*

 

It was like she could see each of their faces but they were blind to her.

 

*

 

Bochum looked at the pills in her hands. Citalopram was a new friend to her. She couldn't leave her place. She couldn't meet her people anymore. She couldn't fulfil their expectations, she would _never_ be able to do that. She was a boring City.

So she took the pills the doctor gave her and it got better, for a while.

 

Until she didn't feel like herself anymore and decided to hide in the mines. It was a nice feeling, even though she couldn't breathe sometimes. She was alone, it was dark and her clothes were gone, so she wallowed in grease and dirt and slept in a bed of coal.

 

Sometimes Bochum thought that she could see the stars in the dark. That she could smell the woods. But in the end there was only the certainty of the mines.

 

"I am pathetic. I drown in self pity."

 

But how do you ever get out of this? She didn't know the answer, so she stayed und tried to ignore the crying of her people, their agony.

 

*

 

"I've been looking for you.“

 

"Go away, Dortmund."

 

"But I'm here for you."

 

"I don't care."

 

"I don't believe you. You've always cared too much."

 

Her cheek was resting on the wall, her eyes kept close. Dortmund had brought a light and she wasn't sure if she could handle it's brightness right now.

 

"It shouldn't have been me. They need someone who can take care of them... I'm angry at everything, you know. I'm angry at you because you told me I would get better and Essen said so, too. But no one told me _how_."

 

Dortmund sat down next to her and touched her soiled skin. She didn't flinch.

 

"Someone who feels rich inside, feels as if she's enough. You're strong. You're good. Give youself a chance and prove it."

 

Bochum laughed but it turned into a bad cough. "You want to see me dancing and singing?" She finally opened her eyes to him, the light only blinded her slightly.

 

"If it's good enough to you, it should be good enough to everyone else. It's alright to be a flower. You don't have to be a tree. You know who you are, don't you?"

 

"I am a City."

 

"And you know what you've been before."

 

"Yes."

 

"Then listen to your people. They're waiting for you. [They're singing for you](http://snowingblackout.tumblr.com/post/61101604153/how-do-i-mention-properly-that-there-actually-is-a). Stop assuming and try to listen..."

 

*

 

When she woke up the next morning, clean and alive, she looked into the mirror and discovered that the scars on her neck had healed. She smiled.

 

*

 

They've always taken care of her, just like she had always taken care of them. They both only hadn't seen it before. She felt regret, but also the opportunity of being content. She didn't have to be great, she only had to be herself.

 

Finally, she sat down and started to write a certain letter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Sheffield.

>   
> 
> 
>   
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> do you remember me?
> 
> I just needed you to know that I am in love with you. We met, once.
> 
> Do you remember me?
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> they think trees are alive and metal is dead, but that’s not true. It has to breathe, just like trees. Just like us.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> Things change so fast and we’re supposed to change with them. Have you ever changed? Or have you always been the way you are now? I wish I would’ve loved you back then. I wish I would’ve _known_ you back then.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> Which weather do you like best? Do you like the sun? Do you like the rain?
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> it’s raining today. I hope wherever you are right now, it’s the weather you like best.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> What kind of music do you like?
> 
> I like all kinds of music but I prefer musicals. They make me feel alive.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> I would like to visit you again. Would you show me the Crucible Theatre?
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> Merry Christmas. Do you celebrate christmas? I don’t, but my people make me soppy.
> 
> You see, I like that word. Soppy. I’m soppy on you.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> I don’t want to lie to you. I’d be a terrible idea anyway… and I think I broke my therapist. (the third one actually)
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> I didn’t write a song about you but there are melodies that remind me of your way of walking.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> my arm broke yesterday. I’m left handed so I have to write with my right hand and I hope you’re able to read that. It was funny cause I didn’t even notice until I woke up and tried to sit. One of my mines collapsed. They don’t use them anymore but they’re a museum now.
> 
> The bone of my arm stuck out. It was covered in iron but still looked so very human.
> 
> Do you know what’s underneath your skin?
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> how should it be possible to love someone who doesn’t love themself? It’s not that I think I never did, I just… never thought about it. It’s been too much for me, being a City. I am as weak as aluminium, what is it good for?
> 
> Could you love me? Could you teach me?
> 
> Could I learn to ask you? To beg you?
> 
> I’d turn into tin, iron, gold, silver, ashes – if you only asked.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> I miss your not-smile.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> in tales and stories ‘love at first sight’ always goes both ways. But in the real world it’s not true. Maybe you’re the god of the woods and I’m still a nymph. There’s no other way for me, no other than to love you.
> 
> I don’t have some clever line. None that would spark your interest, none you would remember me by. So I would come to you and you would ask me ‘Why do you think you love me?’
> 
> And I answer: Because for the first time in years… when I think about my future… I’m not scared.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> I think I get it now. I’m freedom. I’ve never known anything better than freedom. Now I’m the complete opposite of it. This is why I’m sad.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> Essen is pushing me. She wants me to actually send the letters… It doesn’t matter in which order you read them. It doesn’t change anything.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Sheffield,
> 
> thank you.
> 
> *
> 
> Dear Leeds,
> 
> Bochum is kind. Please tell Sheffield he could use some kindness in his life.
> 
> Dortmund
> 
> *
> 
> "How can you like him anyway?“
> 
> Bochum knew it was a bad idea to tell Duisburg. Well, technically she didn’t. He already knew most of it and she only filled the gaps.
> 
> "Why _don’t_ you like him? He is like us.”
> 
> Duisburg sighed. “Exactly. Wow, he is the Steel City, praise him, he knows fire and metal. We know that, too. But we are the ones who _lived_ it. We burned and choked and it was our skin that broke. I don’t like how he acts all mysterious and broody and farouche like he knows more than everyone else.“ Duisburg crossed his arms and shook his head. “and I don’t like that you fell for him.”
> 
> Bochum wondered if Essen thought the same. But Duisburg should know better. That the way someone acted never was what they truly are… He just saw part of himself in Sheffield, that was all. The anger of someone who acted like he didn’t care, even though he cared a lot. Duisburg wanted comfort for something he had never voiced and knew that Sheffield would probably get it without asking for it. Or even worse: Sheffield wouldn’t want comfort, wouldn’t need it, while others were starving for it. This was what upset him.
> 
> "You don’t know any of that… and it’s not what I saw. He may be dark but he is strong, he found his place in this world. He is my counterpart and I knew it when I saw him."
> 
> “ _He_ clearly didn’t.”
> 
> "I wouldn’t expect him to. That’s not how nature works. You’re lucky if everything is evened out but most of the time we know that it isn’t…. There is no reason to be sad about it."
> 
> They were sitting on a bench in one of her forests, watching her borders. She liked to see where she ended, the limit of her existence.
> 
> "Then why _are_ you sad?”
> 
> She smiled and looked at Duisburg. “Because all I can think about is how much I’d like to be near him. It wouldn’t be satisfying to only look at him again. Above all else I want to talk to him, to know his fears and dreams, if he owns them at all. I just want to know if he can love. I’m not stupid and I won’t run after someone who cannot love me… but not knowing any of these things, that’s making me sad.”
> 
> She blinked and looked up to the sky, maybe that would force back the tears that began to sting in her eyes. The ache was in her heart, so why would she cry? Did her eyes pity her?
> 
> "But to finally know scares me just as much as not knowing… Now I can dream of all the possibilities and everything that might be. I can sense my people, whenever they visit him. They wonder how they can feel home in a foreign City. He is like me… if I was born a male I would look like him, too, I’m sure of that. But how arrogant would it be to tell him that? That fate made me a woman so it would be easier for us? That it made me a nymph who danced with her people, who would burn one day and breathe ashes, who would bend like grass so she could be near him. How do I look him in the eye and tell him that I loved him the second I saw him but that this is not enough? That I want to share this life with him until I can’t remember a time without him?"
> 
> Bochum felt him watching her but she feared his reaction, so she kept looking at the clouds. Some of them looked like trees. One was a train, made of shreds of thoughts.
> 
> "I’ve written letters. A lot actually but some include only one line… I didn’t send them because I’m scared and I hate that so much. I hate that I’m scared of his reaction, that I’m scared of looking into my people’s eyes, I hate that so many of them can’t get up in the morning and that’s what I do, too. I have to change myself before I can face him."
> 
> Now Duisburg snorted and she finally turned her head. But he only seemed to be amused. “Change? Why would you do that? You’re fine the way you are…”
> 
> She frowned. “No I’m not. You can try and keep telling me that but I know that I’m not happy like this. I don’t want to change completely… only just as much so the City I’ve been once, the one I loved to be, blends in with what I am now. And maybe then I can be more than that. I can be myself and… he can decide whether he likes that or not.”
> 
> She smiled when Duisburg pulled her closer so he could put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I like to think I’m smarter than all of you but I guess I’m not.” There was a pause. “Don’t tell Dortmund I said that.”
> 
> She laughed at his words and the forest trembled.
> 
> *
> 
> She hadn’t expected letters from anyone for years. They had stopped writing her when she had stopped answering. She had wanted them to stop.
> 
>   
> Now there was an envelope in her hand, her name on it and Sheffield’s on the back. She opened it with trembling fingers, shredding the paper in the process. There was a plane ticket. To Sheffield. Nothing else… no written smile, no letter words. Just an invitation.
> 
> She cried into her hand and laughed.
> 
> *
> 
> It took a while until realisation sunk in: He wouldn’t come to get her. It wasn’t his fault or anyone else’s that it made her die inside. The airport was crowded. Every other person would know how to leave, how to look at faces. She crouched down, breathing into her hands and repeating words inside her head that were supposed to help.
> 
> "I’m sorry. He is very bad with time."
> 
> Bochum heard a voice but it was hard to figure out from where it came. Where was she anyway? Slowly she looked up and looked into a face that she knew, even though they’ve never met in person. Leeds.
> 
> He frowned. “You are Bochum, aren’t you?”
> 
> Only now she noticed his outstretched hand.
> 
> "I am…"
> 
> Leeds smiled. “Then come.”
> 
> *
> 
> Bochum sat on her suitcase, fingernails scraping over the rough fabric.
> 
> Sheffield hadn’t talked to her yet and she had been here since an hour ago (well, she knew he didn’t talk). At the same time she didn’t dare to speak herself, so she just watched him, working on a piece of metal. He lived in an old factory building which he had made into his own workshop, apparently. There were stairs who circled to the top floor. She guessed there was his… bedroom.
> 
> Bochum focused on him, the way the muscles of his arms flexed, how he barely blinked and didn’t change at all since the last time she met him. Over 50 years ago.
> 
> Did she change at all? She touched her own face, buried it in her hands and glanced through her fingers. He was so stunning.
> 
> "I don’t know much about forging…," she finally said. He didn’t stop and he didn’t look up. "I never did. I know about the sounds it makes. I know it’s songs… Maybe one day you can teach me how to touch it.”
> 
> Now he looked at her, finally, for a few seconds. Then he twisted the metal again.
> 
> She sighed.
> 
> *
> 
> "Why did you invite me?," Bochum asked when they watched the clouds together.
> 
> He didn’t answer.
> 
> *
> 
> Bochum’s phone vibrated in her pocket.
> 
> Essen: Are you alright?
> 
> Bochum: I’m fine.
> 
> Essen: Only fine or happy?
> 
> Bochum: I’m working on it
> 
>   
> Essen: We miss you
> 
> Bochum wondered when it became so hard to believe that. But she had promised herself to stop degrading herself. She was working on it.
> 
> *
> 
> When he took her hand to put a heavy hammer in it, she was confused. He was working on that piece of metal for quite some time now, so it clearly had a purpose. Did he want her to destroy it?
> 
> "I’m not good at… I can’t-"
> 
> He pulled her towards the anvil and took the glowing metal from the forge. With a second hammer Sheffield showed her how to wield it and then waited for her to try herself.
> 
> With nervous hands she took the tongs to keep the metal steady and then tried to work on it.
> 
> Attempt number 1: She threw the hammer behind her back
> 
> Attempt number 2: She jumped when the hammer hit the metal and almost ruined it.
> 
> Attempt number 3: We’re not talking about this one.
> 
> Before she tried a fourth time, sweat already on her forehead, Sheffield held a hand over her stomach and took a deep breath. When he pointed at the metal he breathed out.
> 
> _Hold your breath until you hit the metal._
> 
> She tried again. This time she hit it.
> 
> The white colour soon changed into a bright yellow, then orange, then red. He put it back into the forge until it was glowing white again. Now he wanted her to hit it only once and let the hammer even out on the anvil. Everytime she hit the metal, little pieces fell off, like peeling off skin. Pieces that weren’t needed anymore.
> 
> When it was almost flat, Sheffield took the hammer from her and she was secretly grateful. The muscles of her right arm were sore but she didn’t want to tell him. Instead she used the bottom of her shirt to wipe her face and watched Sheffield putting another piece of metal on top of it.
> 
> "I know that procedure… It’s called mating."
> 
> Sheffield stopped and watched Bochum until her already hot face was burning and she looked away.
> 
> Only now she realised that it was raining outside.
> 
> *
> 
> They took a very long walk through the forest. This time she walked a few steps ahead of him, touching the barks of the trees and telling him about herself, which wasn’t much or something he already knew from her letters.
> 
> "Your trees are taller than mine," she murmured and looked at her naked feet digging into the earth. "I don’t walk through my forests alone anymore… Sometimes Duisburg or Essen accompany me. I just… didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I changed… and this is what I am now… I don’t think it’s so bad, not anymore…"
> 
> She still heard Sheffield walking behind her. His steps were loud, no need to hide. Only her steps were as quiet as a falling leaf. It seemed right that way. She could live in his shadow, _be_ his shadow, if he would permit it.
> 
> "I know how to entertain people, it’s what I still know best, even though they started to scare me. Do you want me to entertain you?"
> 
> She turned around. Sheffield had draped one arm against a tree and studied her, like he always did.
> 
> "Ah," she said with a smile. "What do you usually do to entertain yourself? Forging? Football?… Hunting nymphs?"
> 
> He blinked.
> 
> "No, It’s alright. I understand…" She circled the opposite tree, almost hugging it while glancing at him. "I usually run. I love the running. I watch and read stories, the most beautiful thing humanity ever created. Other worlds… for everyone to visit. I talk a lot, I know. I’m sorry."
> 
> Bochum watched Sheffield coming closer, leaning against her tree.
> 
> "What made you stop talking?," she asked. "Mouth and tongue, they can form words in infinite ways. How could you ever stop?"
> 
> Slowly he lifted his finger and touched the tree.
> 
> "Right… You prefer to talk to them. But don’t you miss it, sometimes?" She pressed herself against the tree, shifting her face closer to his. "Do they answer you? Do they laugh?… Do they beg for you?"
> 
> She could not only hear his breathing but also feel it on her lips. He hadn’t been that close to her before. What would happen today? Here in the forest, where they both were at their best.
> 
> Suddenly he made a grab for her but she pulled away and circled the tree again. He did the same, until they were face to face again.
> 
> "I don’t want to be a prize anymore… I want to be a gift."
> 
> Then she ran.
> 
> She was running through the forest, good thing she left her shoes in the first place. She remembered this, the feeling of wood and grass beneath her feet. There was nothing that she’d rather call home and Sheffield’s forest seemed so… familiar.
> 
> A high pitched sound escaped her throat when she felt strong arms tackling her to the ground. Leafs whirled up and branches were pressing into her back but she didn’t mind. All she could hear was Sheffield’s heavy breathing, mixed with her own. All she could feel were his strong arms pinning her on the forest floor, his one knee between her thighs.
> 
> Her fingers combed through his dark and wild hair, tugging him closer, so he could hear her whispering. “Do you want me to keep running? Do you want me to beg? You never ask…”
> 
> If he only said a word. But he just stared at her, all the time, as if he was trying to figure her out, asking questions with a glance, telling her what to do with his hands.
> 
> His hands started to wander over her arms to her shoulders, to her throat.
> 
> "Do you want me to dance?“ she asked, feeling his rough fingers against her pulse. "Do you want me to sing?“ the sound of the wind made her hum.
> 
> He stopped. Bochum smiled, not expecting him to smile in return. She kept tugging at his hair until his head was lying on her chest, his body following until they were lined up and close, so close, she could feel his heart beating against her stomach, like a clock, like fire.
> 
> Then she began to sing, the same way she had sung back in the days. She knew how to make the trees answer, she was glad she hadn’t forgotten about it. It was like they were joining her in a choir, while she cupped Sheffield’s neck and drew soft circles that made him shudder. It was beautiful.
> 
> Maybe it had been a good idea to only show him what she was good at, so he wouldn’t see her many flaws. He wouldn’t know that her quiet singing may be beautiful but if she raised her voice, she would sound like a wounded goat. Since they were alone he wouldn’t know that she was bad with people, even her own. If she stayed ugly he wouldn’t know that she had been prettier once.
> 
> She was still singing, caressing him and so very busy with her dark thoughts that she didn’t even notice the way he clung to her and her scars or the way he buried his face in her chest.
> 
> *
> 
> He actually kissed her. When she was close enough again, he pressed her against the tree, his hand not leaving her neck and she made a keening noise at the back of her throat. She wanted to touch him everywhere, his arms, his upper body, his legs, but when she tried, he grabbed her arm with his free hand and made her gasp into his mouth. She sucked on his tongue, pressed her neck against his hand until she couldn’t breathe anymore and whimpered under his fingers.
> 
> It was too much and barely enough at the same time. She was scared and excited, chuckling and crying.
> 
> When she couldn’t help it anymore she grabbed his wrist with both bands and sunk on her knees, her lips throbbing as if they had their own pulse. She was light-headed and breathless.
> 
> "Please," she begged, whispering against his fingers. "I’ll give myself. I know I belong to my people… I’m never free, but I don’t care. _Please_.”
> 
> She didn’t know how she could be enough, how he could _want_ her(it didn’t occure to her that she already might be enough). It didn’t matter though, since he wouldn’t answer if she asked him. So all that mattered right now was how he pushed her down onto a bed of leaves, how he touched her and let her touch him. All the time she was whispering ‘please’ against his lips, his skin, but when the moment came, when they were… _there_ , she knew more than he did. She cupped his cheeks with her hands and smiled at him.
> 
> "Let me."
> 
> *
> 
> Afterwards Sheffield put on his clothes quietly, while Bochum kept lying on the ground, touching her face and neck like being with him had made her find something in herself. It was about him, partly, but mostly this was about her. He stood there, clinging to his belt and watching her.
> 
> "Let me stay here for a while, please. I will find my way back to you."
> 
> He let her, she could hear his foot steps getting more and more quiet until they were completely gone.
> 
> She remembered this, wallowing in dirt. She sang to herself, like she often had done in the mines and smiled into the leaves.
> 
> For so long she had tried to figure herself out, to find out what defined her and who she actually was. No one could have answered that question for her but being with him made her feel a bit more like herself. _Herself_ (A concept which felt very foreign by now). Now she had to hold on to that feeling and would try to find it in other places, like home or forests, streets and mines, until she was whole again.
> 
> *
> 
> On one day he showed her the Crucible Theatre she had wanted to see so badly. They played “A Streetcar named Desire” and she was sitting on the edge of her seat. She watched these people not only walking on a stage and quote a memorised script but living a story that made Bochum grasp her armrests.
> 
> Not once in these hours did she look at Sheffield. Not once she realised that Sheffield was watching her more than the play. He saw the tears in her eyes when Stanley came for Blanche or whenever Blanche appeared afterwards. It reminded her that she not only loved watching theatre but also missed being part of it. Her ‘Schauspielhaus’ had always sent her roles to play, but they got rarer during the last 100 years… by now they had stopped. Because she didn’t answer anymore.
> 
> *
> 
> Sheffield brought her to the airport this time and handed her the ticket. She smiled and hugged him, her arms crossed behind his neck so she could memorise his smell, of iron, fire and burning trees.
> 
> "I’ll keep writing to you, if you don’t mind", she whispered and felt him slowly hugging back. She took it as a _yes_.
> 
> When she let go he pulled something out of his coat pocket, a necklace with a silver chain and a forged key with a blue jewel in the key bow’s center. Blue was her favourite colour.
> 
> She stared at him when his hands reached behind her neck to put it on. His mouth was so close and she caught herself almost trying to kiss him again.
> 
> "How come I deserve this?", she asked jokingly but there was a serious expression on her face.
> 
> He raised his eyebrows and looked a bit annoyed. ( _It’s got nothing to do with what you deserve or not. Presents are given out of affection_ ).
> 
> She chuckled and wrapped her fingers around the cool metal, smiling at him again.
> 
> "Thank you… I had a great time and… I’ll keep writing to you!“, she said it a bit more confident now, determined to keep this feeling alive.
> 
> (She didn’t know that the key was an actual key that opened a door. A door inside this city. He would tell her one day, when she was ready. She didn’t even think about it because whenever she appeared in a newspaper, in pictures or on TV, she always wore a necklace with a key attached to it. She liked keys, they had a purpose, a very simple one, they had a counterpart and she liked the idea of her being able to open a door to worlds no one else knew about. She thought it was a coincidence that he had done this for her. She didn’t know that he knew.)
> 
> Before entering the plane she looked back, but Sheffield had already disappeared into the crowds.
> 
> *
> 
> Essen hugged her when she got back to Dortmund’s airport (who was standing behind them, hands in his pocket, always looking like he just came out of bed) and did it so firm that Bochum almost couldn’t breathe.
> 
> "Dear god", she said delighted. "You look so good. Like you finally got enough sleep. How are you? Come on, we’ll have coffee and you can tell us."
> 
> Bochum took a deep breath and tried not to think about those many people (who she didn’t even know. Airports were the worst.) walking past them and didn’t let go of Essen’s hand. “Actually, can we…” _go to your place, to Dortmund’s place, can we just leave and go somewhere I don’t have to deal with so many people at once? Can we go to a theatre? I don’t think about things when I’m in a theatre. Can we go back to Sheffield? I felt safe with him-_
> 
> No. No more hiding. No more hiding in mines, no more hiding behind closed doors, no more hiding behind others.
> 
> "You alright?" Dortmund was frowning. "We can go somewhere else if you want."
> 
> Dortmund… her big brother who led her out of the mines. ‘ _If it’s good enough to you it should be good enough to everyone else.’_
> 
> Bochum shook her head. “No, I’m… not fine, but I want to try.”
> 
> Essen grinned. “But we can still hold hands, can’t we?”
> 
> Bochum chuckled. “Of course.”
> 
> They were leaving the airport, Dortmund was carrying her suitcase and all was well. (So far.)

**Author's Note:**

> Bochum has broken 3 therapists by now. But she's getting there!


End file.
